It was four o'clock. Clock on the wall said, "That's all!" and Suzy was out the door. The day's tasks weighed on her brow heavily and she decided, quite out of character she would later snicker, to purchase a very necessary bottle of merlot on the way home. It was a four glass day. Jerry the $8.00 an hour CEO was more than his usual obnoxious ass. Four accounts not reconciled. The bitch Sharla next to her didn't do a goddamned thing all day but bitch to her mom about her husband. The day was now behind her and the approach of a few glasses of smooth shiraz was all for which she could muster exuberance.
The air was cool and festive, the troubled times of America's new war put a dark shade of the mundane karma during which the fair entered the city.
The bright sun struck her full on the face as she left the office and brought her some comfort. She walked briskly to her car, smiling bashfully when a car of passing blacks whistled and exclaimed unintelligibly at her lithe figure. Their comments were not easily understood, but the obvious exagerated nature of the language was not unnoticed. She was single and such exclamations brightened her mood, even if uttered in the form of ambivalent sexual ignorance. Giggling, she blew them a kiss. Thanks for the holla.
The drive to the package store was short but fraught with the turmoil of North State Street traffic. It took her through the thoroughfare of the departing. The law offices, hospitals, UPS drivers, day laborers, students and Guardsmen were spilling their weary contents into the street en masse. After a long and busy day of fielding calls and orders from her superior, the last thing she wanted was the hustle and bustle of rush hour, but she deemed it a necessary evil, given the ever-increasing desire for a nice smooth glass of vino.
The cacophony of everyday traffic soothed her slightly and coupled with the slow deep rubbing of her own shoulders at various traffic lights, she eased her tensions.
The liquor store was fairly close to her work and she reached it quickly. There were only a few cars parked in front. As she parked, she noticed a dark man clad in a simple garb of sandals, light tan shorts and a very tight black shirt entering just ahead of her. He held open the door for a little old lady heavily burdened with a suitcase of Busch and a brown paper bag that contained a large bottle of amber courage peeking out from inside.
She was touched. He thought nothing about helping the lady, even though her own inclination was that people who bought cheap whiskey and cheaper beer often were damaged goods, because of either bad upbringing or mere bad taste. That he had generously helped her and even made a little remark that they both laughed at stirred her for some reason.
She did not get a great look at him, merely a glance at his profile from behind as she was parking. He had a great form however. He was fit, a increasing rarity in the South even amongst those who were still young enough and single enough to know be better. Not overly tall, she reckoned there was no way he was close to six foot but he was trim and carried himself as close to the six foot as she found acceptable. There was just no accounting for taste in the perception of faces, in Suzanne's opinion, but by God the guy had to be taller than her tits, even if that was where he needed to be.
The manners and light-hearted nature were a great first impression. She parked the car and stretched her legs a bit, pushing into the pedals the pain arising from her constant sitting from her calves. Gathering her purse, she exited and walked into the store.
The cashier was an elderly Indian, recognizable due to the caste mark between his eyebrows. He nodded nonchalantly at her and asked if she needed any help.
"I'd like a nice red wine. Maybe a Bordeaux or shiraz merlot?"
He nosed over to his right. "All wine over to the right." His accent was very thick and distinguished, but standoff-ish. There was probably no way in hell he knew what a shiraz was beyond whatever the wine rep sent him a beer for.
She thanked him and began walking quickly to the side. There was a pair of young black women whose ages could have been twenty-two or forty-two- she always had trouble telling their age- looking and bantering back and forth about how much cognac they should buy. To her left, a man in a very exquisite business suit was milling about the top shelf bourbons, staring hard at the labels. His eyes cut to her and she blushed a bit when she realized he was scoping her out.
The large gold band on his left ring finger stood out against the liter size bottle of Maker's Mark he held and she ignored his glance. He had the puffy face of a rich drunk. Just as she turned to focus on just where she was headed, her eyes met Mr. Manner's.
That he was quick with his cutting of his lingering eyes away from her, blushing and dark, and had a slightly foreign appearance instantly excited her. Her own pale features and upbringing yearned instantly to investigate his differences. She did not know if he had heard her question to the cashier or whether some twist of fate had brought him to the wine section, but there he stood, directly in her aisle. She swallowed hard and sauntered up beside him. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles, not baggy as if from a lack of sleep but instead dark with an undeniable intensity of soul. Eyes that said ponderance, intelligence, but when theirs locked his eyes said, "Yes." His hair was quite curly and a bit rambunctious atop his head. He was perhaps three inches taller than she, even with her pumps on and she noted his tastes included a mellow German merlot. He spoke first, his voice deep yet hushed, as if he did not wish to be too forceful. There was a lilt to it, a spicy sweetness.
"Hello." Suzanne smiled slightly, ashamed that a small hint of moisture had unintentionally began pooling on the nape of her neck. Her womanly intuition tried to get a whiff of asshole on him and could not immediately find any. A genteel, dark presence, he was clearly a guy who felt good in his own shoes....sandals.
"Hi." She reached for the closest bottle of red to her and began staring at the label intensely, as if taking in all the information. "You like a good red?"
"With the right company." He smiled back at her. She did not immediately get the sense he meant it as a come-on. "I was thinking about having a glass or two on the deck at my house. The weather is quite exquisite."
"Oh yes! I just got off work. I've missed out on the breeze today. Nothing but store-bought office wind. One of the woman I work with was field-testing the nastiest deodorant I've ever smelled today. I swear I think her pits woulda been better rank than painted up with whatever the hell that was she greased up with."
"You work indoors?" He replaced the bottle in his hand and reached for another, a cheaper Lindeman's.
"Yeah. I never see much of the sun this time of year. The sun sets so early now." She stared at the bottle he had selected.
"Well, there's much to be said about the evening. The temperature isn't so bad until later in the fall. I'm not much for the cold stuff."
"You like Lindeman's?"
"They make a great merlot. Australia's got the market knocked out on it. Not pricy, either. I used to work at a bar that sold a fruit beer they made that was awesome."
